


Home

by TheBeeThatHums



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Grief/Mourning, Grieving John Watson, Holmes!reader, Hurt/Comfort, John Watson's Blog, John is a Bit Not Good, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Post-Fall, Post-Reichenbach, Protective Mycroft, Reader-Insert, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sibling! Reader, Twins, twin!reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 22:53:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 19,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18375731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBeeThatHums/pseuds/TheBeeThatHums
Summary: When Sherlock's Twin sister shows up at John's doorstep unexpectedly, he doesn't know how to tell her Sherlock is gone.. much less how to help her grieve.





	1. Chapter 1

221B Baker St.

Home.

You wondered if your brother, Sherlock, would be surprised to see you or if he would have anticipated your return. You hoped he’d be surprised as you adjusted the duffle over your shoulder. You rummaged around in the pocket of your military issue camouflage pants for the set of keys you always carried.

You hadn’t bothered to change when the plane had landed, instead opting to go straight home in uniform, pulling off your jacket to reveal the white tank top underneath so you could enjoy the cool London air.

Quickly unlocking the door, you forced yourself to take the stairs slowly and with the utmost stealth even though you were itching to bound up them excitedly. You carefully skipped the squeaky step, holding your dog tags so they wouldn’t clink together as you did, and came to a stop in front of the door. You caressed the knob lightly with a slight smile- Home.

It was unlocked you noted, meaning he was home or that Mrs. Hudson was cleaning, but the latter was unlikely as you had noted her own flat was locked. He had to be home. You took a deep breath and swung the door open calling, “Guess what Sherly, I’m home!”

The flat was quiet and you assumed he was in another part of it so you dropped your bag to take stock of the damage he’d manage to do while you were gone. Leaning to peer into the kitchen you smirked at the fact that it was a mess, as usual, and then hopped up on the couch to trace the bullet holes on the wall, his aim was getting sloppy.

John stumbled in to find you standing on his couch and wondered briefly if he should grab some sort of weapon… that is until he noticed that your arm was in a sling.

You heard a noise behind you and were too ecstatic to realize it wasn’t Sherlock, as you normally would have, “Please at least pretend to be surprised to see me Sherlock. I know it’s not in your nature but still.”

You spun and frowned when you found someone you didn’t know and not Sherlock like you’d expected, “Oh sorry. Hello, you must be the flatmate… and I’m awkwardly standing on your couch.” You looked down at it for a second as John just gaped at you.

You stepped down carefully, a little embarrassed to have been caught standing on the furniture, and examined him with intelligent eyes and a tilted head in a way that reminded him so much of Sherlock he wanted to slap you.

You raised an eyebrow slightly, “ Army Doctor. Afganistan… possibly Iraq. Medically discharged. Not recently as you’ve been here for a while. Impressive considering Sherlock’s tendencies. Seems he finds you useful. I’m inclined to agree. He needs more friends…”

You paused for a moment, brows furrowing, “Your eyes… they are incredibly sad. Not over something recent but rather a deeper hurt that sticks with you even as time passes. The loss of someone close. It intensified as I began, I remind you of them…”

You had a sudden realization and a hand went to your mouth, as you murmured, “No. No, I’m wrong. That can’t be.”

You turned from him to think, closing your eyes to put together every detail and John realized you didn’t know.

Whoever you were, you didn’t know that Sherlock Holmes was dead.

You took a sharp breath, “No. This is all some elaborate and cruel prank to get back at me for enlisting. It has to be.”

John took a step forward, unsure of what to do, when the door swung open and Mycroft stepped in. He took one look at you and let out a sad sigh, “I was hoping to get here before you. I asked you to let me pick you up when your plane landed.”

“How long?” you asked softly.

“6 months.”

You spun to him, your voice raising a few decibels, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You would have become reckless (F/n). I did not want you to lose focus and jeopardize your life or the lives of others.”

“I missed the funeral. I could have at least been here for that on temporary leave. You were supposed to tell me if anything happened. You were supposed to keep an eye on him.”

“(F/n) I-“

“Get out.” You yelled and then spun and went into John’s room, slamming the door behind you, only to open it again, grumbling “Right. Flatmate. Not my room anymore.” As you went into Sherlock’s room and slammed that door as well.

John looked from the closed door to Mycroft and Mycroft let out a heavy sigh, “That went better than I expected.”

John cocked an eyebrow, “Better…? What did you expect then?”

“I rather expected to her to hit me.”

John nodded, “Right… Now what exactly is going on?”

“Ah… I take it she didn’t introduce herself then. You have just made the acquaintance of the third and youngest Holmes, (F/n). I expect you to keep an eye on her.”

John blinked a few times in shock, “Youngest Holmes… so she’s your sister. That explains before when- Wait a minute. What’d you mean keep an eye on her?”

Mycroft was already partially out the door, “She’s not leaving anytime soon and as I value my well being I am not going make any attempt to remove her. It would seem you’ve acquired a new flatmate Dr. Watson.”

John didn’t have time to protest as Mycroft swiftly left, so he turned and looked at the door you’d slammed just minutes ago and sighed, he was still grieving himself. The last thing he needed was a grieving Holmes that he barely knew.

** The New Flatmate **

**It would seem Sherlock has a few surprises for me even from the grave as today I emerged from my room to find a young woman standing on my couch. Apparently he had a sister he never told me about. I know right? Who saw that coming? I should be angry I guess but, seeing as he didn’t exactly tell me about Mycroft at first either, I suppose I should have expected it. The Holmes family is quite interesting to say the least.**

**She didn’t know.**

**That Sherlock is dead.**

**Mycroft claims he didn’t tell her because she would have lost focus in the field. Oh that’s right- I forgot to mention that she’s military of some sort, at least that’s what I would assume from the uniform and dog tags. After a short row and multiple door slams, Mycroft appointed me to take care of her for the time being. Can you believe that? As if I don’t have enough on my mind already. That man thinks he can do whatever he wants and I hate to say it but he very likely can. The odd thing is he seemed afraid of her, which I find worrisome.**

**She has currently shut herself in Sherlock’s room and I doubt she plans on coming out anytime soon. As annoying as the whole situation is, I can’t help but feel bad for her. Coming home from all that to such terrible news can’t be easy. If I had come home to the news Harry had died in that fashion, I would have… well I don’t know but it probably wouldn’t have been good. Is it awful that I’m actually hoping she’ll be as fascinating as he was? They were related after all and she certainly doesn’t lack for intelligence. I could really use some adventure in my life again.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured I'd post a bit more since I have it... Also I thought I would mention that anything in bold is an entry in John's blog. Tell me what you think guys... I'm having fun writing it.

** Update **

**You would think that with a Holmes living in the flat again I’d have loads to talk about, but it’s honestly like she’s not even here. I’m actually beginning to worry as, from what I can tell, she hasn’t left that room in four days. Every time I try to check on her the door clicks locked so at least I know she's alive, but she needs to eat and things. I suppose it was too much to hope she wouldn’t be as difficult as the rest of her family.**

**Two more days.**

**Two more days and Mrs. Hudson will be home from holiday. (F/n) lived here with Sherlock before so she’ll know what to do.**

 

It turned out John didn’t have to wait that long. He came home from a shift at the clinic the next day and you were sitting at the living room table eating a cup of instant noodles while you watched a Doctor Who rerun on the telly.

You didn’t acknowledge him come in, so he took the moment to look you over carefully. He hadn’t gotten the best look at you when you arrived but he could tell you were much paler than before, your face was gaunt, and you were no longer wearing the sling. Your long dark curls were disheveled and sticking out at odd angles as they tumbled down your back and your blue eyes lacked the spark that he’d seen in them before. The way you sat, clad in Sherlock’s pajamas and dressing gown, eating your noodles with a fork, was so casual it was surreal.

“You should eat something better than that,” he offered, pulling off his coat.

You just continued eating your noodles as if he hadn’t said a thing and he sighed, at least you were eating something at all.

Sitting down in his chair, he just watched you, trying to think of what Sherlock would deduce in order to figure out what to do or what the man would do in this situation so that he could at least have an idea of what you might do next.

The episode ended just as you finished your noodles and you silently slid out of the chair to shuffle towards the kitchen. You stopped short when the noodle cup involuntarily slid out of your hand and to the floor, hissing at the mess and then giving your arm a disapproving glare as if it had betrayed you.

John realized that perhaps it had as you tried to flex your hand unsuccessfully and then let out a resigned sigh, scooping up the cup from the floor with your other hand and continuing to the kitchen. You came back quickly with a towel and dropped to your knees to clean the mess, keeping your injured arm tucked against you tightly. He was about to say something, offer to take a look at your shoulder, try to get you to eat something better, anything, when you finished, got up, and went back into Sherlock’s room, shutting the door behind you.

He ran a hand down his face and then ruffled his hair, silently cursing Mycroft for making him responsible for you since now all he could do was worry for both you and himself- if he failed to keep you at least somewhat healthy then Mycroft would surely have his head. One day more and Mrs. Hudson would be back. Just 24 hours longer.

 

** She’s alive **

**She actually came out of the room today. Shocking, I know. I came back from the clinic and there she was eating instant noodles and watching telly as if she hadn’t just spent four days locked in his room. Now, I think it is important to note that seeing her and interacting with her are two very different things. She didn’t actually acknowledge my existence what so ever. Not a glance. Not a nod. Nothing. Just silence, noodles, and an old episode of Doctor Who.** **Sherlock would have been yelling at the telly over all the inaccuracies he perceived but she was just quiet. I can’t say all that surprised me though and, while instant noodles certainly aren’t the best thing for her, at least I know she’s eaten something. I can put my mind at ease over that even if it's only one thing in a pile of mounting issues, better than nothing if you ask me.**

**Speaking of issues, there is something wrong with her arm, likely why she was discharged from the service in the first place. I know this because she lost control of her hand and dropped the empty noodle cup. It looks as though she was shot in the shoulder and she was wearing a sling when she made her initial appearance. I wonder what was damaged to cause her hand to do that. Honestly, it could be a number of things… may even by psychosomatic like I was with my leg when I first got back. From her reaction, I’d say it probably wasn’t the first time that’s happened either.**

**She was quick to retreat back into his room after that. I can only wonder what she’s thinking. Here’s hoping that when Mrs. Hudson returns tomorrow, we can have some actual contact.**

 

He didn’t see you again before he went to pick up Mrs. Hudson at the train station. She knew something was wrong as soon as she caught sight of John and he quickly told her of the situation.  She just frowned and got in the cab. It was quiet for a few minutes and then she shook her head, “Poor dear. She and Sherlock were very close. I can’t even imagine coming home to news like that.”

John just nodded and the rest of the cab ride was silent. Once at the flat, he nearly dropped his keys in shock when the door swung open and he heard a familiar violin melody wafting down the stairs. Sherlock had played that song often, always looking deep in thought and almost sad when he did. Mrs. Hudson’s hand covered her mouth as her lips trembled and then looked to the floor, a tear rolling down her cheek, “That was their song. Sherlock always played it when he was missing her.”

John was suddenly angry- how dare you make them relive the memories like that, how dare you make Mrs. Hudson cry- and he stormed up the stairs with Mrs. Hudson in tow, bursting through the apartment door only to stop dead in his tracks.

You were standing in window wearing one of Sherlock’s shirts with the sleeves rolled up tucked into a pair of jeans that looked to be yours, your feet bare and your hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. You cradled the violin very carefully as you gracefully pulled the bow across its strings and even over the distance he could see a few tears rolling down your face.

Your hand faltered just as it had the night before and you barely managed to catch the falling bow before it tumbled to the ground. You wanted to scream but held it in, calmly placing the violin and the bow down on the end table exactly as they had been before.

“(F/n)?”

You spun at the sound of the familiar voice and before John could blink you were giving Mrs. Hudson a large hug, offering in a voice just above a whisper, “I’m so sorry. I should have been here. If I had been… maybe I could have-“

“Hush dear. You can’t blame yourself.”

“Doesn’t mean I won’t.” You responded flatly, pulling away from her rather quickly to go back to the window.

“I’ll put the kettle on,” she offered, going to the kitchen as she stated, “It was nice to hear music coming from the flat again. I didn’t know you played the violin.”

“My form was never as good as Sherlock’s. He always tried to teach me, but in the end, I stuck with the piano.”

John was watching you carefully, noting that even though your voice was even you were barely holding in the tears as you gazed out the window.

“I suppose you’ll be wanting to bring it back up to the flat then.”

“The piano? I assumed Sher- I assumed he got rid of it.”

“Of course not dear. We just moved it to the flat downstairs when John moved in. Your brother even had it tuned every three months like clockwork.”

Your lip trembled and you reached to wipe away some unshed tears as she came and gave you a cup of tea, handing one to John as she went by, “We’ll get it moved up right away- won’t we, John?”

He quickly offered, “Of course,” hoping that maybe it would at least get you out of the room more often, and she stood beside you for a moment as you softly asked, “What am I supposed to do now?”

Mrs. Hudson linked her arm with yours, giving it a squeeze, “You cry and then slowly you keep on living.”

You forced a smile in her direction, “Right.”

“See, there you go dear. It gets easier. I promise.” She said, giving you a pat on the cheek, and then moved towards the door.

When she was gone you turned to face John, “I believe I owe you an apology. I haven’t been the most corrigible… nor did I ever really introduce myself, though Mycroft probably corrected that for me. (F/n). (F/n) Holmes.”

He stepped forward and took the hand you’d extended with an understanding smile, “John Watson. It’s a pleasure to properly meet you (F/n)."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit got intense up in here... I feel kinda bad for John getting stuck with all this but eh... what can you do.

** It’s a Start **

**I was right about Mrs. Hudson being a catalyst of sorts between me and (F/n). We came home from the train station to the sound of music coming from the flat just as it always did when Sherlock was around. I recognized the tune, it was one he played often, and Mrs. Hudson tells me that it was a sort of link between them, a duet that they wrote together, and that Sherlock played it when he was missing her.**

**There’s still so much I never knew about him.**

**I was so angry at first, hearing it brought back so many memories and the pain is still so fresh, but as soon as I saw her in the window with the violin in hand… it was like seeing a ghost. Her posture and movements looked so much like his- even her physical features seem to mirror his — all except for the tears.**

**Considering what I now know about the tune, she was probably just trying to feel close to him again. I know how that feels. I also learned that she plays the piano and we have since moved the piano from the flat downstairs back up to, what Mrs. Hudson assures me is, its rightful place in 221B. I have yet to hear her play but if it’s anything like Sherlock with the violin, it will be beautiful.**

**We spoke briefly after Mrs. Hudson left, just getting to know each other a little. She was a commando tactician, discharged after she was shot in the shoulder just like I thought. I didn’t get much else out of her, but she asked me little things like where I was from, how long I’d been here, what kinds of books I liked, how long I’d served, things like that… I got the feeling she already knew the answers and was just trying to avoid me asking about her past and Sherlock. Not that I minded- anything is better than the silence from before.**

**After a bit she excused herself saying she was tired but offered to cook dinner if I’d like, to which I agreed and offered to go to the shop, and then she disappeared back into his room. It wasn’t much, I’ll admit that, but it was something. Hopefully the start of something more- a friendship maybe.**

Dinner never happened due to a visit from Mycroft. You’d only just emerged from Sherlock’s room again when he waltzed through the door and announced, “I need you to look into something.”

John just sort of gaped and you shook your head, staring at your elder brother for a moment, and then walked over to press your forehead to his tie. He sighed and wrapped his arms around you before resting his head on top of yours, “You need to get on with your life, (F/n). He’s gone. It wasn’t your fault and you can’t change it.”

Your voice came out quiet and small, “How can I, My? Every moment of my life he was there- he taught me how to walk, held me when I cried, kept all my secrets, balanced the inner workings of my mind with his- He was my twin. How can I just get on with it? Everything feels so wrong without him.”

“I know my, dear. I know,” he said, running his fingers comfortingly through your hair. You pushed him away, turning from him, “No you don’t. You can’t know. It’s like my heart has a gaping hole that nothing can ever fill and I can’t think, my mind is a giant cloud of fog with no actual thoughts- just a never-ending and engulfing grey. Nothing will ever be right again.”

It was quiet for a moment as Mycroft and John just stared at you, stunned by the outburst, and you suddenly chuckled, “Did you know that the life expectancy of a remaining twin drops considerably after the loss of the other? Something about the severe emotional stress that comes with the grief of losing someone you are highly genetically and socially linked to. I always wondered, tried to imagine, what that might be like- to be so distraught that you could actually shorten your life span. Now I know… And trust me when I say, I would have been better off bleeding out in some dirty hole in the ground under the Afghan sun then coming home and having to live with this.”

You didn’t give either of them a chance to answer as you turned to glare at Mycroft, “So no. I will not look into whatever it is.”

The door to Sherlock’s room slammed shut a moment later and Mycroft just stared at the empty space in front of him, an uncharacteristically sorrowful look on his face, until John broke the silence, “You didn’t tell me they were twins. It explains her behavior.”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at him, looking for an explanation, and John sighed, “It is believed that twins are deeply connected and that the grief of one twin over the loss of the other is so intense that they can lose their appetite and fall into a state of despair so deep that it is difficult for them to interact with anyone outside of themselves- among other things.”

He sank down in Sherlock’s chair across from John with a heavy sigh, “Maybe I should take her home to the Holmes estate. Mother is terribly worried… as am I. I thought maybe being here would give her something familiar to hold on to but it would seem it doesn’t really matter.”

John shook his head, “I think it does. Give her time and space. Putting her back with your parents, who are more likely than not going to fret over her, is only going to make her pull further into herself.”

“I suppose you are right... Thank you for keeping an eye on her. I’m afraid I have to go but I’ll leave you the case file, maybe she’ll come around.” Mycroft sighed, standing and pressing the folder into John’s hands before leaving.

** A Missing Twin **

**They were twins.**

**I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. She looks just like him but for some reason, I assumed it was just family resemblance. No wonder she’s so broken up. They’d been in each other’s lives from the very beginning- from the womb. She said that the life expectancy of the living twin when one dies drops drastically and it got me thinking about other phenomenons that occur with twins, so I looked it up.**

**Twins can have their own language and start bonding- like playing and interacting- in the womb, fairly early in the pregnancy. It is also widely believed that twins can have a telepathic link and sense the other’s thoughts and actions even over great distances. I wonder what they were like together. It’s hard to imagine Sherlock being that close with anybody but it seems like they would have been… Maybe that was why he needed me on cases, to fill in for her while she was gone.**

**Mycroft wants to take her home to her parents but honestly, I don’t think that would help. She doesn’t want to see anyone right now and I doubt that’s going to change anytime soon. Living without him is going to be quite an adjustment for her. Not to mention all the bad press floating around concerning him… it must hurt her so much to see him thought of that way.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A CASE... We shall see how you and John handle it.

**A Set Back**

**I haven’t seen (F/n) since Mycroft came to visit and that was nearly a week ago. I know she’s been out of his room since she sometimes cooks and leaves me a plate or the shower is wet from someone using it recently but it seems she’s careful not to do so when I’m around. I think it’s finally sinking in for her that he’s gone. A couple of times I went to check on her and heard her crying through the door… I know she doesn’t want to see me or anyone but I wish there was something I could do. She seems nice enough and I hardly think she deserves all this- none of us did.**

**I’m not sure which is worse- having her shut herself away and dealing with worry that comes with it or having her out and dealing with pain that rips through my chest over just how much she reminds me of him. Part of me wishes she’d never come here. It brings up so many feelings I’d rather not deal with but my therapist says it will be good for me to get to know her… to share the grieving experience with her. Whatever that means.**

 

You needed to get out. It had been a week since Mycroft had come to visit and you had hardly left his room and never when John was around. The longer you stayed inside the dark cave of Sherlock’s room the more you hated everything and while you would gladly just wallow in grief for the rest of eternity, you knew John wouldn’t allow it and neither would Mycroft. It was for the best if you went out on your own accord.

You stared at yourself in the floor length mirror, tricking yourself for a moment that he was behind you- resting his chin on your head as he often had when he wanted you to hurry up. A pang of grief struck your chest and you turned away for a moment to let it pass before looking back at yourself with a new resolve. Shaking out your waist length hair, you did what you had to do before pulling on some black jeans and a white button-down shirt over a pair of black converse, stepping in front of the mirror again. This time you were satisfied with what looked back at you and slipped out of the room, startling John in more ways than one, “(F/n)… What happened to your hair?”

You continued on your path to the door, grabbing your deep purple trench coat that looked black when the light wasn’t on it, flatly offering, “I needed a change and I’m not in the service anymore, so I figured why not?”

He bounced up from his chair when you pulled the coat on, examining your new jaw length hair as he asked, “Are you going out?”

You turned to face him and he stopped breathing, the shortened hair and your piercing eyes making him feel like he’d just seen a ghost as you pulled a lavender scarf around your neck and announced, “I’m going to the Yard. Mycroft has that case and I need to get out. You are welcome to join me if you’d like.”

He stood frozen as you popped your collar with a small thoughtful smile, remembering your brother doing the same, before your face twisted into a pained frown and you spun to stalk out of the apartment. As soon as you were out of his sight, he recovered, bounding down the stairs after you just as a cab pulled up for the two of you to slide into.

You walked into the Yard like you owned the place despite the sneers and jeers accompanying the whispers over your ‘fraud genius’ brother- the only sign that it bothered you was a clenched jaw and the way your fingers discreetly fiddled with the edge of your sleeve. You weren’t going to have a breakdown in front of these people, hiding your tumultuous emotions away expertly just like your brother had always done. John braced himself when you got to the correct floor and literally almost ran into Anderson but it turned out to be unwarranted as you offered the man a weak half smile, “I see you’re still running around with that tramp partner of yours… I’ve told you time and time again she’s no good for you, Phil.”

He seemed startled to see you at first but a wide grin soon spread across his face, “I didn’t know you were back (F/n)!”

His face fell when you didn’t flash him your usual grin and he remembered that you’d lost your brother, “…Oh. I-I’m sorry about- you know-“

You shook your head, quickly cutting him off, “Don’t. Just... don’t. I’m not ready for that yet.”

He rubbed at the back of his neck as he nodded, “Well when you are… We can grab coffee or something.”

You flashed him a limp smile, letting it fall after only a second, “Sure.”

He shuffled away awkwardly and you moved to continue your path just as Donavan strode over, opening her mouth with a smirk, but you were quick to cut her off, “I suggest you rethink what you are about to say as I am not above breaking your nose in front of all these people before explaining to Lestrade where you were last night when you were supposed to be on a stakeout.”

Anger flashed in her eyes but her mouth snapped shut as you calmly strode past her and into Lestrade’s office, stopping in front of his desk as he wearily sighed, “What is it?” without looking up.

“An umbrella carrying birdie told me you could use a hand.”

Lestrade’s eyes snapped up at the sound of your voice, paling when he caught sight of you as his jaw dropped, “(F/n)?”

Leaning your palms on his desk, you gave a small, sad smile and sighed, “Hey Lessy.”

John had never seen the man move so fast, practically leaping over his desk to envelop you in a hug, “When did you get back? Are you- how are you?”

Glad for something familiar, you leaned into him without actually returning the hug as you mumbled, “I’ve been better.”

He pulled back from you slightly to give you a confused look, “I thought you still had another year before you were to be discharged. What happened?”

“Short version-I got myself shot like an idiot.”  

He frowned at you, pushing you back to look you over a little more carefully before looking over at John, “I see you’ve met Watson.”

You rolled your eyes in annoyance, “My brother has deemed him my babysitter. I suppose it’s fitting… but hardly ideal for either of us. No offense, John.”

He shook his head, “None taken.”

Lestrade toyed with a piece of your hair, noticing that it was shorter than you’d ever had it in all the time that he'd known you, as he asked, “Are you sure you’re up for this, (F/n)?”

Sherlock would have never admitted it but you both had liked Lestrade, you viewed him as sort of an older brother after having worked with him for so long and he came to you for advice when things had started to go south with his wife. You were close but right now you didn’t care about his concerns as you firmly nodded, “I need a distraction.”

He pursed his lips and handed you a folder, watching you sigh as you looked it over for a split second and then glared at him, “The wife did it but you already knew that. Stop testing me, Greg.”

John gaped, you’d barely even looked at the file’s contents before coming to that conclusion, and Lestrade traded you for another file as he sheepishly offered, “I had to be sure.”

You flipped this one over, taking your time, and then softly hummed, “I need to see the bodies… St. Bart’s?”

“Yes but-“ Lestrade started but you had already turned on your heel to stalk off like your brother had often done and he sighed, “That’s new.”

John tilted his head at him, “What do you mean?”

“She’s not normally so brusque. She and Sherlock were each other’s counterparts… He was cold and she was warm but they were bound together with the same level of intelligence. It made them the perfect crime-solving duo… where one would lack the other made up for it.”

John just nodded and Lestrade waved a hand, “Better catch up to her. She’ll be waiting.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to wait a bit to post this but I could help myself... so here. have some more sad sadness.

John found himself waiting for you to catch up with him for a change when you got to St. Bart’s and watching you look up to the roof with a trembling lip he knew the reason for your sudden hesitation. You shook your head and focused on the ground before striding forward and past him, either expecting him to follow or not caring if he did. You hated that place; it sent shivers down your spine- better to be out of there as quickly as possible.

You slowed when you reached the morgue, taking a deep breath before pushing the door open and stepping through with John following you. Molly’s head shot up from her work and you gave her an awkward little wave and a tiny smile, “Hey… I need to see the bodies and the tox reports for the mystery killer case.”

She offered you a sympathetic smile, “Lestrade called. I’ve got them all ready for you.”

You just nodded, following her to look at the bodies when she beckoned, trying to stifle a weary sigh. Talking to people was exhausting you decided and then hoped that the dead would be a little more agreeable… maybe Greg had been right to question if you were ready for this. The world seemed a lot bigger and far more difficult to navigate now that you were alone.

You pulled on a glove as she pulled out all four bodies for you and handed you a tox report before stepping back to let you work. Letting out a slight huff, you closed your eyes for a second to try and gather your focus and your mind accepted the offer of a distraction, quickly falling into what you called your mind castle as you looked over the information and prodded the bodies.

Once you were lost in your mind, Molly sighed and left you to step over to John, “How is she?”

His eyes flicked to you and then back to Molly and she shook her head, “Don’t worry. She can’t hear you- too busy thinking.”

John huffed and ran a hand through his hair, “Honestly I didn’t know her before, so I can’t say for sure… but by the looks of it, she’s not doing well. She hardly talks -this is the first time she’s been out of the flat since she got back and the first time in a week that I’ve seen her leave his room… not to mention the hair.”

Molly looked over at you a little worriedly, watching as you stick your finger in a dead man’s mouth with an arched eyebrow, “She would never cut her hair that short under normal circumstances… I can tell you that.”

John joined her in watching you as he hesitantly asked, “What were they like together… if you don’t mind me asking.”

Molly flashed him a smile, “Honestly? They were dynamic… always seemed to know exactly what the other was thinking. They balanced each other out… he was, as you know, insensitive and brusque where she was kind and patient. It was almost like they were two parts of the same person but somehow still so separately unique. Wonder twins would have been an understatement.”

You suddenly let out a soft hum, “All male, no wives or families, late twenties to late thirties… all killed by the same poison- probably the same killer. No puncture wounds- likely ingested it somehow… Sherly?”

You looked up and found the space in front of you empty before realizing your slip up, stumbling back slightly and covering your face as you took a deep breath to compose yourself. He was gone. You had been so focused you’d forgotten that. John took a step towards you just as you spun to face them, your brows furrowed and your eyes deeply sad, but your voice was scarily even, “I’m taking these reports. Call me if you find anything new.”  

Molly nodded a little stunned as you swept past her and out the door, exchanging a concerned glance with John before he jogged to catch up with you. When he did, he quickly asked, “They were poisoned with no puncture wounds… could they have taken a pill?”

You slowed slightly and huffed, “No. None of them took any medications or vitamins regularly or shared any acquaintances or friends. There was no opportunity for them to take it without knowing… It is a fast-acting poison administered by a stranger or someone they’d met only briefly before… the question is how would they get them to take the pill?”

“Maybe they were threatened.”

You stopped abruptly for a split second and then continued on again, “Possible… but then why them? What’s the motive? And what were they threatened with? They didn’t have any family… Levels of income varied from high to very low, so it wasn’t for money... what would you have to be threatened with to willingly take poison, John? Disregarding your sister of course.”

“How did you know I have a sister?” John huffed and you rolled your eyes, bringing a hand up to your temple as you grumbled, “Why must I explain everything to everyone? It’s so terribly tedious… and it’s not as though they understand anyway. Idiots.”

You glanced over at him as you sighed, “Would it be sufficient to say that it was obvious?”

John wasn’t oblivious; he could see you were coming to the end of what you could handle at the moment, so he simply offered, “Sure.”

 

You let out a relieved stream of air before picking up your pace again until you were outside, calling a cab and then staring out the window in thought, leaving John just to watch you as he considered what he’d learned and tried to ignore his own grief.

** The Wide World **

**We went out on a case… I don’t know what spurred the sudden change of attitude but she just slipped out of his room with all her hair chopped off to her jaw and announced she was going to the Yard. It was interesting, to say the least. She’s highly intelligent- at the same level that Sherlock was- and though she’s pretty cold now, it’s obvious it wasn’t always that way. If he was a sociopath and she was his opposite… does that make her an empath? I’ll have to look it up…**

**She seemed to be on friendly terms with Anderson… a total surprise considering her brother’s attitude towards the man. I wonder if there is a story there. It turns out she’s also close with Lestrade or Lessy as she called him. I think she’s the only one who can get away with that- just like I’m sure she was the only one allowed to call Sherlock, Sherly. Both he and Molly tell me that they were amazing together and that they balanced each other’s flaws, but neither could offer me any advice on how to help her… apparently it’s like her entire personality has changed. Not really surprising considering all that she’s going through.**

**Our visit to the morgue threw her for a loop; it was where he… Well, let's just say it put her in a bad mood. She barely spoke a word to Molly and once she was focused on examining the evidence, she forgot he wasn’t there with us, absentmindedly asking for his opinion. It was a little heartbreaking to watch… ok, a lot heartbreaking.**

**Now she’s working on the case. It was a good call for Mycroft to bring it to her as she’s been out of his room consistently for a few days now- even if it’s been mostly her pinning things on the wall above the couch and then sitting cross-legged on the coffee table to stare at them in thought. She hums when she thinks… it’s a change from the piercing silence that settled in when he was thinking. I wish she would play the piano. She hasn’t even touched it since we brought it up.  One thing at a time I guess- she talks to me regularly now, mostly bouncing her ideas about the case off me so she can hear them out loud. Better than nothing and it certainly is interesting… it feels good to do things like this again even if it brings up painful memories at times.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> INTENSE... Once the case is over and you and John have bonded some more we'll have some Sherlock point of view and let's just say he is not happy with Mycroft at all. Anyways... John hugs. Always good.

You sat on the coffee table, one leg pulled up so you could rest your chin on it and the other folded underneath you, and stared at the wall in front of you. Working the case had already put you through a number of mood swings- at times you felt normal, letting your brain do what it did best was enough of a distraction, and others you felt alone or angry, unable to ignore the gaping hole in your life. John had grown used to you going from contemplative and calm to abruptly yelling or disappearing into Sherlock’s room with a door slam over the past week and a half. He could loosely say you were friends now as you chatted casually when you needed to rest your mind and you often cooked or made tea for the both of you.

Right now, looking up at your failure of a wall as you went over the case again in your head, you were teetering in between screaming and just plain sobbing- you were missing something and your entire being told you that with Sherlock there that wouldn’t have been the case. John had looked up from his laptop when you stopped humming, knowing that it meant something was about to happen with you, and was more than surprised when you softly asked, “Was he happy, John?”

He stopped what he was doing to look over at you more seriously; you hadn’t said a word about your brother since your outburst when Mycroft was over, “I think he was, (F/n).”

You continued to stare at the wall for a minute and then let out a heavy sigh, “We were so angry with each other when I left… He didn’t want me to go.”

He got up to sit next to you on the coffee table, seeing the tears beginning to shine in your eyes as you rested your forehead on your knee, “The last thing I said to him was that I didn’t need him- that I could make my own decisions… but I do n-need him. I-I always n-needed h-him.”  

A few tears had started to run down your face and you were quick to wipe them away as you got up to lock yourself in his room again but John stopped you, catching your arm, “You don’t have to be alone in this, (F/n).”

You looked up into his blue eyes, firmly stating, “Yes I do. It’s my fault. If I hadn’t gone- If I had stayed- It’s my fault he’s dead.”

John floundered for a moment and it was long enough for you to pull away and slam the door to your room, leaving him alone and slightly lost in the living room. He sank down in his chair to hold his head in his hands feeling angry, not at you but at your brother for doing this to you- for doing this to him- and that quickly turned into his own wave of sadness.

John Watson let the tears creep down his face because without his best friend he was lost and with you here it was like losing him all over again. He quickly shook his head, wiping his eyes, and went back to his computer to do what he did best- blog.

 

 

**Will it Ever End?**

**It’s been seven months, but it feels like just yesterday I was watching him fall. I don’t know how much longer I can take this. She’s driving me up the wall and I doubt she even knows it… it’s not really her fault either. I don’t think two people could have been put in a worse situation than this. We’re complete strangers at different stages of grief over the same man stuffed into a flat that seems to be growing smaller by the minute. How can I help her like everyone keeps telling me I should when I’m only barely keeping it together myself?**

 

  
**  
**  
His thoughts were interrupted just after he hit post by a quiet and slightly distraught voice, “John?”

Looking up, his eyes found you standing hesitantly in the doorway as you rubbed at your nose in an attempt to stop the sniffling, your eyes rimmed with red from crying. You opened your mouth to say something but quickly shut it, chewing on your lip before trying again, “I’m sorry. This can’t be easy for you either… and you’ve been so patient with me.”

Knowing that must have been hard for you to admit, he sighed and joined you in the doorway to take one of your hands up in his, “It’s alright, (F/n)… but I wish you wouldn’t shut yourself away. It’s all right to be sad- to need other people. Let me be there for you.”

You hated everyone and everything- even yourself- but you couldn’t stand being alone anymore. The theories in your head that resulted from staying that way were all awful and dark. Frankly, you didn’t care if any of them happened… but if it got bad enough, you’d have to deal with Mycroft and that you cared about. Thinking it over for a second, you resignedly nodded, “Okay… I’ll try.”

“That’s all anyone can ask of you, (F/n)… You tell me what you need and I’ll do my best to help you.”

You gazed into his eyes for a moment and then looked down at the ground, seeming a little conflicted before raising your eyes to look at him, “Would you- c-could I…”

John squeezed your hand reassuringly, offering you a small smile, “It’s okay. Tell me.”

You studied the floor for a moment and then softly breathed, “May I hug you?”

There was no pause between your request and him enveloping you in a hug and for the first time since you’d gotten home, you returned it, burying your nose deep into his shoulder as you wrapped your arms tightly around him. It was exactly what you needed. After living your entire life deeply connected to another person, being alone now was overwhelming and some form of human contact, no matter how small, helped you more than John would ever know.

At the same time, it was what John needed as well. He rested his cheek against your shoulder and tightened his grip on you, weeks of frustration melting away. You were going to let him help and maybe… just maybe- you would both be okay.

The first true act of comfort you’d allowed to penetrate your sadness also managed cleared your mind and you startled John when you pulled away very quickly to jump on to the couch, “How could I have been so stupid… I just assumed it was a pill.”

He gaped at you for a second as you scrutinized the things pinned on the wall and then let out a soft, surprised chuckle- your mind would always be a mystery to him just as Sherlock’s had been. It was good to see you at least a little fired up… he’d only seen it happen once or twice and it was so slight that it was almost undetectable, but when it happened, it was like seeing your real self shine through all the pain.

Your phone rang and you waved a hand at John for him to answer it, causing him to roll his eyes, as had become reflex from his time with Sherlock, and pick it up so you could continue with your thoughts. Lestrade’s voice rang through the receiver and John nodded, humming, “Alright. I’ll tell her,” as you leaped from the couch to grab your coat, stealing the next words from his mouth, “There’s been another murder. Tell him not to touch the body.”  

John huffed and did as you asked while grabbing his own coat and following you out of the flat as you took the stairs two at a time, humming softly as you mulled over your most recent thoughts. Between John and the case you just might be able to get through another week without locking yourself away from the world… right now that was all you could ask for.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've really hit my stride with this series... I hope you guys don't mind that I've been spamming you with it. Sherlock is appearing soon and then coming back soon after that. Gotta save John first though.

You arrived at the crime scene just as Anderson leaned over to touch the body and promptly snapped, “Don’t even think about it, Anderson. Get out before your sticky fingers contaminate everything.”

He looked startled by your harsh tone but you ignored it, adding, “Now," as Lestrade jabbed a thumb for him to leave and you dropped down to a crouch next to the body, eyes moving rapidly over the man and taking note of any bare skin. You stood after only a moment and looked to Lestrade, “Test any and all bare skin as well as all his clothes for traces of poison, lotion, body spray… anything that goes on the skin.”

He looked at you quizzically and you hummed, “The killer was gone before he collapsed and he suspected nothing… it took some time to take effect, so I thought it had to be a pill but if the right formula was applied to the skin-“

“It would be absorbed and make its way into the bloodstream quickly but with enough of a delay for the killer to leave,” John finished, his voice dripping with amazement, “That changes everything.”

“Exactly.” You stated, offering him a half grin before wandering off to look around some more as you sorted through your new theories. Both John and Lestrade watched you go and the detective inspector let out the air in his lungs in a smooth huff, “She seems better…”

John nodded, “There are ups and downs… some days she doesn’t leave her room and others she just sits and stares at the wall for hours on end, but she’s trying.”

“John?”

They both turned to where you were looking over some documents distractedly, your brow furrowed, “I’m leaving.”

“Alright, I’ll-“

“Go home. I’ll be there in a bit.”

The folder and its contents slipped to the floor as he gaped at you confusedly and you looked down at them dejectedly, bringing your other hand up to press at your shoulder as Lestrade gently asked, “Are you alright, (F/n)?”

You came out of your thoughts with a start, quickly nodding as you glanced up at him and then dropped to your knees to collect the papers, “I’m fine. Just lost my grip on it.”

“That hasn’t happened in a while, (F/n)… Is your shoulder bothering you?” John worried, dropping to help you as he fretted.

“It’s fine, John. Quit fretting and go home.”

He went to protest but you were already up and stalking out, leaving the file in his hands, so he let out a resigned sigh, wished Lestrade a good night, and then went home to wait for you. You showed up a few hours later with bleeding knuckles and a bag full of god knows what and John was up in a flash, trying to get you to give him your hands, “What happened?” 

 

 

You expertly avoided him, only shrugging as you went into the kitchen and began to grab vials and a pair of goggles, and he let out a frustrated huff. There was no way he was getting anything out of you with the way you were acting; Sherlock acted similarly when he was working on something important or... simply important to him.

** The Madness Returns **

**I have been banished from the kitchen. Something I’m fairly certain is a good thing with the way she’s working in there. She’s been at it for a few days now… from what I can tell she’s trying to both recreate the poison Molly found on the latest victims lips and create an antidote. I think she’s frustrated that she can’t figure out the connection between the five men or how exactly the poison was administered. She’s talking more then ever though- even if it's in almost frantic blurbs as she works. I’ve learned that she’s not as good at science as Sherlock was but is still far above the average person. She claims technology is more her thing.**

**I’m a little worried though. She may seem less sad but I think she’s just pushing it to the back of her brain so she can work. I’m also not certain if she’s slept since she started and her problem with her arm is worse than ever. A fact proven by the six vials she’s broken so far… the main reason she has insisted I order take away as whatever was in them was no doubt highly toxic.**

**Maybe I should stop worrying. Sherlock did things like this all the time, minus the arm issue, and this is actually rather tame compared to some of the experiments he ran for days on end without sleep. I’ll never forget the time I came home to some sort of carnage splattered all over the kitchen cabinets because he had ‘accidently’ caused his current experiment to explode. It took months to clean everything properly and even longer to get rid of the smell.**

**She talks about him occasionally now, telling me stories from when they were young, but only when she is really distracted. Sometimes I wonder if she even realizes she’s doing it or if her subconscious mind is just trying to remain connected to him somehow. Either way, it’s kind of nice to hear about him in that way.**

**Oh! I met someone at the clinic the other day and tonight I have a date! She seems like a very nice woman and very pretty… I hope it goes well. I felt like we had an instant connection and she laughed at my bad jokes... so you know it was worth giving it a shot. I haven’t been dating much since he died. It might be nice to try and get my life back on track.**

  
**  
**  
Yet another vial smashed to the ground but you didn’t care… you’d finally come up with an antidote that worked in the same fashion as the poison- all you needed to do was test how long it took to counteract it. You stretched your arms over your head and gave a loud yawn before deciding that you should have a shower as a reward for your diligent work… not to mention you smelled a little.

You did a quick clean up and then hopped into the embrace of a stream of warm water, letting your mind stay busy with your work as you scrubbed down and shampooed and conditioned your hair. It was much easier to take care of now that it was short and you’d been trimming it often to keep it at a length that just grazed your jawline. You actually liked the way it looked, your dark curls just sort of bouncing around your face, the only problem was that it got in the way at times and you found yourself accidentally inhaling it when you were focused.

You felt a lot better and could think more clearly after your shower, ruffling your hair dry as you ventured into the living room to see if John wanted Chinese for dinner. You chatted away distractedly for a good fifteen minutes before you realized he wasn’t home and retrieved your phone to ask where he was, “I’ve been talking to you for fifteen minutes… when did you go out?- (F/I)H”

“About an hour ago. I did tell you I was going on a date. – JW”

“A date? I didn’t know you had a significant other. –(F/n)H”

“It’s a first date. I’ll be home later. –JW”

You huffed in annoyance but let him be; you needed to finish your experiment anyway. It wasn’t until you were spreading a colored version of the antidote over your lips to test its absorption rate that something clicked.

A first date.

It was so _obvious_.

How do single men in their late twenties to late thirties get poisoned through their lips without the killer alerting them to it?  A _kiss_.

A kiss at the end of a first date to be specific… that’s why none of their friends knew that they were seeing someone and the murders couldn’t be linked- it was a new relationship in it's earliest stage.

Clever.

You heard the door open downstairs and you paled as your brain put things together:

Mid-thirties- No close family- First date… Oh no.

John.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay John is safe! But tension. Sherlock comes in next.
> 
>   
> 
> 
> I just thought I would warn you that the next chapter is the saddest fluffy fluff of elder brother and twin love that has ever seen the light of day. 

You practically fell down the stairs just as John was wishing his date a final good night, grabbing the door and flinging it open so you could pull the women inside by her upper arm, “Did you kiss her?”

Mrs. Hudson popped her head out of her apartment to see what all the noise was about and you snapped, “Back inside, Mrs. H.”

She disappeared quickly, knowing better than to question you, and John floundered, wondering what the hell had gotten into you. To any sane person, including John, this looked like a rather violent fit of jealousy as you pinned his date to the wall and demanded again, “John, did you kiss her?”

He bellowed, “Bloody Hell, (F/n)! Get off her!” and you let out an exasperated growl as he moved to pry you away from the petite blonde who was beginning to panic under your forceful grasp. He only got so far as to reach for your arm before he wobbled back dangerously and you hissed, “Dammit! You did.”

Trusting your brain and it’s rapidly created solution, you let go of the woman to grab the front of John’s jumper, pressing him up against the front door to block her from leaving as you attacked his lips with yours. He tried to fight it at first but after a moment he kissed back, even stopping you from pulling away when you’d deemed you’d successfully transferred enough of the antidote from your lips to his. Getting caught up in it, you momentarily enjoyed the way his lips fit perfectly against yours before he ran his tongue along your lip in a plea to gain entrance to your mouth and snapped you back to reality. You shoved him back into the door in order to pull away, gazing at his extremely befuddled face for only a split second before turning to find that you were looking down the barrel of a gun. Fantastic.

The blonde’s grip on the weapon was firm in an attempt to keep her hand from shaking and you ascertained that she preferred impersonal ways of killing since she didn’t have the stomach to get up close and personal- too much blood and gore. You blinked as she stumbled, “W-What did you do? H-He should be d-dead.”

You held up your hands as John slid to the floor breathing heavily and cheekily offered, “A kiss to make it better...Isn't that what they say?”

She glared at you as you sidestepped so you blocked her from taking a shot at John, “T-Tell me what you did or I’ll shoot!”

You smirked numbly, “Go ahead. My twin’s already dead. You’d be doing me a favor.”

This threw her for a loop, having not been the answer she’d expected, and you huffed a little tauntingly, “You can’t do it, can you? You only like knowing that you’ve ended a life but not actually seeing it. Pathetic.”

She waved the gun at you wildly, “You’re wrong! I will!”

You just chuckled darkly, “I wish you would but you won’t. I can see why he left you.”

“What?” she whispered, eyes going wide with panic and confusion.

 

“Your fiancé. He left you because you are weak and dull and now you kill men who remind you of him with a clever mix of the chemicals you use in your work as a toxicologist. Weak and pathetic. You couldn't even stomach murdering him, only men like him… A sad example of revenge if you ask me. I’m impressed you thought to put it in your lipstick though. Doing so made its origins almost untraceable… almost. To bad your fiancé was right about you being a dull idiot and you made the mistake of going after John. He and I are going to have to have a serious talk about what he puts in that blog of his after this.”

She made a sort of flabbergasted noise in her throat as she gaped at you and you took a few steps closer, “I mean sure, I was getting close to figuring it out and his death would have definitely been a distraction but until now I really had no way of finding you. So thank you for literally showing up right on my doorstep. Makes my job so much easier.”

By the time you were finished with you little deduction rant, she was crying and wobbling pathetically, allowing you to easily grab the gun from her hand and turn it on her, calling over your shoulder, “John? Are you alright?”

Still a little hazy from both the kiss and the poison, he carefully pushed himself up off the floor as he puffed, “I think so.”

You yawned, “Good. Now would you please call Lestrade? I’d very much like it if your date was no longer in our flat,” completely calm despite what had just happened. John did as you asked as quickly as he was able and once Lestrade was on his way, you lowered the gun to look over at him, idly tossing your captive, “Move and, unlike you, I won’t hesitate to shoot.”

Giving John your full attention, you scanned his person worriedly, noting he was pale and still looked a little stunned, and then ordered, “Go lie down. All those chemicals provided a nasty shock to your system and you need to rest.”

Looking between the two of you, he opened his mouth to protest but you shook your head, “I was a soldier, John. I think I can handle one petite blonde for a few minutes, don’t you? Now shoo.”

Reluctantly, he climbed the stairs and you fidgeted, silently fretting over him, before knocking lightly on Mrs. Hudson’s door, your eyes still locked on your captive. She opened it a little warily and you offered her a signature Holmes smirk, “Would you be a dear and go make John a cuppa? He’s had a bit of a scare.”

“Of course, dear… I'll take care of him for you while you get that tart out of here. You and he make such an adorable couple.”

Instead of correcting her you just let the corner of your mouth twitch up and then watched her climb the stairs, it wasn’t worth effort to try and explain.

** Untitled **

**She just saved my life by kissing me. Is it bad that I enjoyed it?**

You climbed the stairs after convincing Lestrade that John would come to give an official statement in the morning and found John on the couch with tea and Mrs. Hudson in the kitchen, trying to clean your mess.

John’s eyes snapped to you when you walked in but you just trudged to your room, flatly offering, “Be more careful in the future, John. You were fortunate I finished the antidote when I did… oh and we need milk.”

The door clicked shut before he could respond and he sighed, wondering what exactly he expected from Sherlock’s twin, and you flopped on your brother’s bed to look at the ceiling, thinking over everything that had happened as the grief and despair began to settle in again.

There was no way you were going to be able to sleep, even being as tired as you were, so you huffed and thought about kissing John. It had been the only solution- you weren’t supposed to like it. Maybe before Sherlock, before you were alone, the two of you could have had something… That might have been kind of nice. You’d always been a hopeless romantic, despite growing up being told that caring and love were weaknesses you shouldn't bother with. 

It used to drive Sherlock up the wall and Mycroft certainly disapproved but you didn’t care. You’d read all those books about classic romance, about love prevailing and such, and you wanted that in your life. Sherlock had always blamed it on your lack of a Y-chromosome- for which of course you promptly punched him- but now… you considered that your brothers might have had a point. You’d cared about and loved Sherlock with all your heart and look where it had gotten you.

Curling up into a ball as the sadness you'd been keeping locked away while you worked got the better of you, a sob escaped your lips and you let yourself get lost in the memories of happier times.

** The Kissing Conundrum **

**When I went out on a date with Tracy Miller, I never expected the night to end with a gun pointed at me and a heated kiss from (F/n). It seemed so normal and actually quite pleasant. We went to a fun restaurant over in West End, had a few drinks, and then she offered to let the cab drop me off first since Baker St. was closer than her home. I thought finally a nice woman that I connect with- this could work- and then she tried to poison me. Yeah. That kind of put a damper on things.**

**(F/n) figured it all out before I even knew… which lead to a tense moment where she pinned Tracy against the wall and I thought she was jealous. Before I could do anything, I started to feel woozy and next thing I know (F/n)’s shoved me up against the door and her lips are against mine. Her very soft and warm lips. It was actually a little fantastic. Even with the gun pointed at us after.**

**Everything beyond that is kind of a blur but Lestrade informed me that (F/n) broke Tracy’s nose or rather ‘She fell’ as (F/n) claims. It would seem that’s another way she’s like Sherlock. He always protected the things he cared about… no matter what people said about him not having a heart or being able to care. So I know she cares but how much? Is it just as a friend of the brother she loved? Her friend? Or something more?**

**  
**

  
**It's difficult to tell. She seemed to enjoy the kiss but she hasn’t left his room since then and that was two days ago… not to mention her response to the whole thing was to tell me to get milk. I thought things were getting better. That she was letting me in. Perhaps I was wrong.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the most depressing thing I've ever written... I am so sorry. Also OOCness all over the place. I blame it on twin connection.

You got up early or rather just got ready early, you’d become a bit of an insomniac, so there was not really any getting up involved. It had been four days since you’d saved John and you had talked to him briefly the day before so he would quit worrying. Such a worrier that man… you could practically feel him doing so through the walls and door.

So you’d put on your best face for him until you were sure he was satisfied and then locked yourself back in Sherlock’s room to think. He’d said maybe you should visit Sherlock’s grave. At first, you’d hated the idea, but anything was better than just staring at the ceiling, so here you were- fully dressed yet entirely disheveled, walking up a grassy hill as the sun barely peeked over the horizon. You yawned as you came to your destination, plopping down in front of the stone marker to trace the letters of his name with shaky fingers.

Sherlock froze when he saw you there, quietly crying in front of his empty grave, before ducking behind a nearby tree. He was supposed to meet Mycroft here for his weekly update in a few hours but he’d come early because he was bored and tired of being cooped up. The last person he’d ever expected to see was you. You weren’t even supposed to be in London… when had you gotten back? And why?

He shifted closer so he could get a better look at you, careful to remain hidden even though every fiber of his being told him to go to you. He needed to keep you safe- especially if you were back in London for good. He frowned at your appearance. You looked as much of a mess as you felt, with your short hair sticking out in all directions and your clothes wrinkled and slightly off-kilter, and your face was sullen and haggard from lack of sleep. He wondered how long it had been since you’d slept… how long had you been home to look the way you did.

Wiping the tears from your eyes as you breathed deeply to keep more from escaping, you let out a heavy huff, “John said I should come here. I told him it was an idiotic idea- why should I talk to a slab of stone and a pile of worm food… yet here I am. Like an idiot.”

You rubbed at your temple and sighed, “He’s nice- your friend- and he misses you… I suppose my presence doesn’t really help with that does it? But I like him and he was good for you… perhaps he’ll be good for me too. We are- ... _were_ similar after all.”  

It was quiet for a moment and your voice switched to a pained whisper, “I miss you, Sherly. I keep thinking I see you or hear you- I’ve never hated my mind more.”

Sherlock’s chest wrenched and he sank down to sit with his back against the tree as you shifted to lean against his grave marker, leaning your head back on it, “Do you remember our first day of school? The teacher had to phone home because we wouldn’t let go of each other’s hands and the other children thought we were strange but neither of us cared because we had each other… I suppose we were freaks from the beginning.”

It was true. You’d always been considered freaks but, no matter how much the comments that came later hurt or how many people shunned the two of you, at the end of the day it didn’t matter- he had you and you had him. Who needed friends when you had each other?

He stifled a small chuckle at the memory and you hummed with amusement, “Or what about the time we were playing pirates and you refused to let me be captain? I was so cross with you that I built a working cannon and shot a giant hole through our ship as well as the shed behind it. Mother was so miffed… I can still see her face.”

You laughed weakly, a tear trickling down your face, “You, on the other hand, were beyond proud and named me Pirate Queen- far better than captain you claimed- and we fixed our ship to include the cannon.”

Sherlock smirked and ruffled a hand through his hair, remembering the incident clearly. You had made a fantastic Pirate Queen and after the two of you had fixed the ship you’d worked together to steal Mycroft’s briefcase, forcing him to fence with you to get it back. It was a good memory. He was brought back to the present when you let out the heaviest sigh he’d ever heard from you and he could feel your sadness. He’d always denied that you two had a ‘twin connection,’ as to him that was absurd hogwash, but now he was beginning to think that maybe you did. It would explain the pains in his chest he’d been feeling lately.

Remembering where you were and exactly what you were doing, you rolled your eyes, “This is bloody pointless. You can’t hear me and if you can, then you're probably teasing me for behaving like a drivel-minded idiot. Still…”

Resting your chin on your knees, you took a deep breath, “If you can- I’m sorry. All those things I said before I left were such lies… terrible, awful lies… I need you. I will always need you. I-I shouldn’t have gone…”

Your voice turned angry as you practically yelled up to the sky, “But you were supposed to be here when I got back, you cock. Sure, I left, but it was hardly permanent- there was not a chance in hell I wasn’t coming home. So why did you have to go and leave me forever? I thought we agreed that one-upping each other was a pointless waste of time and energy.”  

He clenched his fists in frustration, wanting to tell you everything so badly, and then tilted his head back against the tree when you started to cry, “I don’t know how much more of this I can endure, Sherlock. I hate being alone. It’s awful and horrid and… exhausting. I just want to sleep forever, but for some reason, I can’t sleep at all. I wish I’d died in that bloody desert… a whole lot of nothing and unending darkness has to be better than this. At least maybe then I could get some peace.”

There was a long period of silence after that and he let everything that you’d said sink in- you’d rather be dead than live without him… it made his chest hurt unbearably because he felt the same way. He would have to make sure you didn’t do something drastic before it was safe for him to come back. He got up, thinking you’d gone, but instead found that you’d fallen asleep curled up against his tombstone, you tear-stained cheek resting against your knee. He frowned deeply and texted Mycroft that he needed to get there as soon as humanly possible before sitting down on the grass next to you, certain that as long as he didn’t touch you, you’d stay asleep.

Mycroft uttered a soft curse under his breath when he arrived and saw the two of you sitting there and Sherlock was up in a flash, dragging his brother roughly out of earshot before seething, “Why did you not tell me she had returned?”

“You did not need to know.”

“Didn’t need to know? She’s _miserable_. I never intended for her to be a part of this.”

“All the more reason for me to keep it from you. There are those who would use her against you. You can’t put her in danger, Sherlock.”

Your twin fell quiet, knowing that Mycroft was right, and then huffed, “Take her home. She can’t sleep here… and tell John to keep a close eye. Her thoughts are muddled.”

Mycroft paled slightly, aware of the implications in his brother’s words, and then nodded stiffly, “I will inform him.”

Fully intending to chew out his brother later, Sherlock strode away before he could do something stupid or his emotions got the better of him and Mycroft stepped over to you, gently running his fingers through the top of your hair as he hummed, “(F/n), dear… This a poor choice of a place to sleep.”

You stirred to blink up at him sleepily, “HmmMy? What are you…”

You fell silent as you realized where you were and he sighed, “Come on. I’ll take you home before John begins to worry.”

He rolled his eyes when you reached your arms up lazily, knowing exactly what you wanted, and bent to pull you to his chest. You wound your arms around your brother’s neck with a small yawn and despite the fact he was slightly annoyed and a little strained over having to carry you, he still gave a small fond smile- the kind he reserved for you and only you. He started on his way back to the car, worrying a little when he realized you were lighter than he’d expected, and you nuzzled into his shoulder, “I missed you, Mymy.”

“And I you, (F/n),” he sighed, slipping into the car with you still in his arms since he knew you weren’t about to let go.

You yawned again and fiddled with his tie before looking up at him, the childlike expression on your face reminding him of when you were younger and you’d crawl into his lap with a book you wanted him to read or just to give him a hug. You’d always been so annoyingly affectionate but he could never bring himself to stop you or push you away. You turned your attention back to his tie and mumbled, “If you aren’t too busy… would you come call on me more often?”

The corner of his lips turned up in a sad smile as he leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead, “Of course, my dear. Of course.”

** An Unexpected Arrival  **

**Will my life ever be normal? Then again… Do I even want it to be normal? The mysterious Mycroft Holmes showed up this morning just as I was frying an egg for breakfast, his arm wrapped around a very exhausted looking (F/n). I didn’t even realize she’d gone out but apparently, he’d found her at Sherlock’s grave- asleep against the marker. I knew she hadn’t been sleeping but I didn’t think it was this bad. She’s asleep on the couch now but it took a while for Mycroft to get her to stop clinging to him in her sleep so he could leave. I’ve never seen him like that. It was like he softened a little despite being totally annoyed. He’s worried about her as am I after he told me to keep a close eye out for any signs she’s thinking about hurting herself. That was a tad sobering. Even sad, I’ve never seen her as anything but strong and independent but looking at her now, curled up on the couch completely exhausted and so upset, she seems terribly fragile and small. Entirely unlike the woman who saved my life a few days ago.**

**After her brother left, I got to thinking… maybe this was meant to be. The universe dumped her in my lap because we both needed each other- I needed some of him back in my life and she… she needs me to keep her from being alone in the world. I have try harder to do that and as such, I have removed the door from her room. She’s going to hate it, I know, but if she can’t just revert to shutting herself away maybe, we can get somewhere. If I stop updating send someone to check she hasn’t torn me to bits…**   
  



	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some sort of bonding between you and John as he learns more about you and you find he's rather useful even if he won't buy you cigarettes.

He was alive.

In your dreams Sherlock was alive.

You tripped through what you concluded to be a fused version of his mind palace and your mind castle, the styles contrasting but somehow still complimenting each other. The cold stone hallways of your mind castle were comfortingly familiar beneath your feet as you drifted along the well-worn path to your favorite room, where the merge between yours and his was very clear, and you stepped into it through your half of the double doors. It was twice the size it normally was with your plush ivory carpeting abruptly turning into a denser grey flooring where the wall normally was and there he was- sitting in his chair facing your side of the room with his fingers folded beneath his chin. You settled into your own chair directly across from him, mirroring his position, and for what seemed like an eternity you just stared at each other.

When you couldn’t take it anymore, you got up, his eyes following you closely, but as soon as you put a foot over the line, the floor on his side was suddenly gone, sending him tumbling into darkness. Distraught, you acted on impulse and plunged into the darkness after him but you didn’t catch up to him like you thought you would, finding yourself instead in the eye of what seemed to be a whirlwind of your mind files.

They swirled around you, their contents scattering everywhere in an intense flurry- memories, facts, theories, and daydreams flashing before your eyes. Suddenly everything froze and the area around you went completely white, blinding you for a moment as everything hung suspended in the air. Then all the things around you were rushing into your head through your eyes, papers flying through the sockets in a sort of macabre stream. You tried to shut them against it, a searing pain shooting through your head as fact after fact and memory after memory demanded your attention all at once, but you couldn’t. The pain became unbearable and at the vision of Sherlock's angered face over your decision to leave you startled awake, hissing at the brightness coming from the windows at the end of the couch.

The files didn’t go away, your mind still racing with a plethora of things all at once- ideas for a new type of cellphone and a handheld heat scanner for use at crime scenes being built as if on fast forward, a shopping list for the grocery store that you had to keep editing to account for John’s needs and to erase Sherlock’s, a handful of reminders to look over Sherlock’s old case files to see what he’d done and give a fresh set of eyes to what he couldn’t solve blinking at you glaringly, and four different piano melodies creating a cacophony of noise and memories- two that you already knew begging to be played along with two new competing sets of staffs that needed to be put down on paper.

The pain didn’t go away either and you pressed your hands over your face to try and block out the light with a soft whimper, feeling like you were drowning in your own mind and somehow even more exhausted than before. A migraine…

You groaned, every one of your senses protesting your very existence in the world, and rolled off the couch, the thud it caused shooting through your ears as if it had been an explosion. Trying to focus at least a portion of your mind on your goal, you pried yourself up off the floor to stumble into the kitchen, a beaker and a few vials shattering to the floor as you groped toward one of Sherlock’s many hiding places. Your fingers fell on nothing… not even a cigarette and you growled out a curse, your knees beginning to feel weak as you tried to slow your brain enough to remember where else he’d hidden things.

John came down the stairs just as you stumbled back out of the kitchen, grimacing at the sound of shattering glass and of his heavy footsteps as you shielded your eyes from the light of the windows. John examined you as you grabbed the skull from the mantle, turning to over to look inside for the usual pack of cigarettes hidden there but found none.

“Are you alright, (F/n)? You should sleep some more.”

The sound of John’s voice grated against your eardrums and as calmly as you could you demanded, “Where are they?”

He realized then what you were looking for and started in, “Sherlock quit. You should too.”

It took every ounce of control you had for you to not just scream at him, Sherlock had done drugs to keep himself from the boredom between cases but you did them to escape this- this pain. For each of you, it was a way of self-medicating, Sherlock more often than you as your migraines came around far less often than he got bored. It had been years since your last migraine, but this one had to be the worst ever- you needed something. When he had started using too often for you to feel comfortable, you’d demanded he quit and he had but usually kept something around for you to ease the pain in situations like this. There had to be something.

“Get me some, John. Please.” you pleaded, exerting a fair amount of effort just to stay standing, and when he refused, you melted into Sherlock’s chair and curled into yourself as tightly as possible with your eyes scrunched shut and your hands pressed over your ears.

It took John only a moment to realize this wasn’t withdrawals and he knelt next to you, keeping his voice as soft as possible, “Tell me what’s wrong, (F/n).”

His voice entered your mind as muffled hum and a few of the things rushing around froze, a slight bit of relief washing over you and enabling you to answer, “Too much going on. Migraine.”

John moved to get you some water and a couple of pills but your hand shot out to stop him, “Talk to me… like you did just now... Anything… Just talk.”

He sank back down, shifting to sit cross-legged on the floor, and did as you asked, telling you about all the things he’d done while you’d been locked in Sherlock’s room. To your relief, the sound of it was enough and slowly the things in your head started to go back to where they belonged- all except one.

You startled John when you moved to get up since he had been talking to you for over an hour and a half and he was even more surprised when you slipped over to the piano and settled down on the bench. The last thing in your mind was that piano melody and you knew if you played it- if you let yourself get lost in it and what it meant- what was left of the pain would subside.

** When it All Becomes Too Much **

**When I heard the crash of breaking glass from my room, I honestly expected it to be some form of retaliation for the removal of her door but when I got down the stairs it was anything but. She looked like Sherlock before he’d had his tea in the morning, stumbling around the flat in apparent exhaustion- the only difference the slightest hint of pain in her face. If I hadn’t lived with her twin for so long, I probably would have missed it completely.**

**The similarities were striking as she searched for cigarettes in one of his old hiding spots, the skull on the mantle, and then practically begged I get her some… apparently, that’s how she deals with what was causing her pain- a migraine. She doesn’t seem like a junkie but then again neither did he, so I have to wonder if cigarettes were all she was looking for.**

**I’ve often said that I will never know how his brain works- worked- and the same goes for her, but I think it’s safe to speculate that all the things that go on in there can get overwhelming. When I asked what was wrong, she just said, "Too much going on." I have trouble doing more than two things at once... with her abilities, how many conflicting things had to be going on in her mind for it to be too much? To cause that amount of pain? I’ve seen people in the field with dire injuries that seemed to be in less pain then she was just then, it hurt to even look at her… and then something odd happened.**

**Something about the sound of my voice when I kept it soft and low gave her some relief.**

**She asked me to talk and, even though I doubt she was actually listening to the words, it managed to take the pain away. I haven’t felt so accomplished in a very long time- seeing the agony in her face slowly ease up and knowing that I was the cause. I actually helped her. For once, there was something I could do.**

**If it could, it got even better after that, as she shocked me by going to the piano. That’s where she is now, playing that familiar tune that Sherlock always played on his violin- their tune. It’s beautiful and as I suspected her playing is phenomenal, I can only hope she plays more in the future. Even so, I worry since she seems almost like she’s in a trance and a steady stream of quiet tears are running down her face. Something tells me to just let her be- that she needs this... Still, it's hard to watch her cry. I can't help but wonder where all this will lead.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now you have a Goldfish and a case... Maybe that will keep you cheered up and mend some of the growing bond with John.

** A Terrible Mistake **

**I know I haven’t posted anything for the last week but when I tell you what’s been going on here on Baker St. I think you’ll understand why. Taking the door off her room turned out to not be as good an idea as I thought. When she finally realized it was gone, she threw a fit (which I expected) and when I refused to return it, she locked herself in the bathroom.**

**At first, I was worried she would stay in there and now I almost wish she’d had. Instead, she came out scarily calm and now she’s being extremely passive aggressive- much like Sherlock was at times… I wonder if they were this way towards each other. I can see that getting out of hand quickly.**

**ANYWAYS. That’s not the point. The point is that, since I took her door, she has made my life into a living hell. She plays the piano every night at ungodly hours- I think she even picks particularly loud pieces to make sure it wakes me, she refuses to talk to me, going to the point of almost aggressively ignoring me, and the experiments! God the experiments...**

**There’s some sort of glowing fungus growing on a bucket of seaweed in the shower, a welding gun and odd technical bits covering the living room table where it looks like she’s building a robot, and the kitchen sink is home to what looks to be a kidney and human skin connected to a technical contraption. Not even my chair is safe as when I sat down in it the other day I ended up with some sort of mucus all over my back.**

**Her newest thing is shooting globs of slime at the ceiling for god knows what reason… I’m trying to stay patient and not yell at her. I really am. But I don’t know how much more of this I can take… Maybe I should just give in and give her the door back.**

When John got up the next morning, you’d taken apart his computer and refused to put it back together. That was the last straw.

He yelled at your unresponsive form on the couch and then stormed out of the flat, getting a few blocks away before coming to a stop and letting out a defeated sigh. He’d brought this upon himself by thinking you’d be ok with not having a door after a few days of anger. Why hadn’t he anticipated that you’d be just as stubborn and manipulative as Sherlock?

As annoyed and angry as he was, he knew that you were still hurting more than he could ever know. You cried often but only when you thought he wasn’t around or you were behind the bathroom door and you still hardly ate or slept. If anything it had gotten worse and on top of that you’d completely shut him out. He could only guess at what was going on in your mind and what you were feeling- it scared him.

After what Mycroft had said and the migraine incident he had refused to leave you alone and took the week off of work, worried that if you were alone for an extended period of time, you might try something. It had been a little over a month and a half since you moved in and he had grown rather attached to you despite the way you were acting now- losing you would be like losing Sherlock all over again. This thought popped into his head and he grew conflicted- he simply couldn’t be in the flat with you any longer but he was very concerned over the thought of you being alone. Trying to come up with a solution, he settled on calling Lestrade in hopes that maybe he had a case for you to keep you busy or could at least stop by to check up on you. John couldn’t help but feel extremely relieved when the man agreed and then set off to do some errands while he cooled off.

Lestrade braced himself for the worst at the door to your flat before lightly rapping his knuckles on it.

“It’s open,” you called and he stepped through the door to find you lying on the floor in Sherlock’s nightclothes and dressing gown with what looked to be some sort of blow dart gun in your hand. You puffed out your cheeks and used your breath to shoot a wad of some odd-looking neon green goop on the ceiling to join a number of other similar splats and then sighed, “I’ve put his computer back together so you can tell him to stop whining.”

“Is there a reason you’re torturing John?” Lestrade huffed, sitting down on the couch as he looked over the flat and then you. You shot yet another wad of goop at the ceiling before answering, “He took my door.”

“He’s just worried about you, (F/n),” he hummed, noting that you were gaunt and had dark bags under your eyes before adding, “We all are.”

You let out a long breath of air, tossing your shooter to the side, and pressed your hands to your face. “I know, Lessy. I just- I don’t know what to do. Most days I don’t even want to get out of bed.”

“But you do, (F/n). I know it’s hard but you’ll get through this. Now get yourself up off the floor and come see what I’ve brought you,” he ordered sternly and you did as he asked, flopping down on the couch next to him.

Your eyes widened considerably when he plopped a bag with a big-eyed, black goldfish swimming around inside into your hands. Holding it up to your face to look at the little aquatic being more closely, you questioned, “A goldfish?”

Lestrade grinned at the glimmer of fascination in your face as the fish swam around the bag and stopped to hover in front of you, “You always complained that you couldn’t have pets because they would end up being part of an experiment. Now that it won’t, I figured that maybe having something to take care of would make you feel a little better.”

For the first time in a long while, you gave a small genuine smile, blinking at the fish and then turning to Lestrade, “Thank you, Lessy. It’s perfect.”

Before he could respond, you had taken the fish into the kitchen and the sound of clinking glass told him you were searching for something to put it in as you called, “You brought me something else.”

“I did. There’s a case I’d like you to look at.”

You popped back in a moment later without the fish and accepted the file from him, flipping it open and shuffling through its contents before nodding, “I’ll take it.”

“Good,” he stated and smiled a knowing smile, getting up to let you start pinning things to the wall as he ventured, “Now will you give John a break?”

You didn’t stop what you were doing but distractedly answered, “I suppose… just don’t expect me to talk to him.”

When John got home a bit later, he was relieved to see you sitting on the coffee table humming to yourself in thought. It seemed a visit from Lestrade had been exactly what you needed since he could see that the experiments were gone from a quick cursory walk around the flat. He looked over what you had up on the wall for a moment and then slipped back into the kitchen, emerging a second later with furrowed brows, “Why is there a fish in that giant beaker?”

“There wasn’t anywhere else to put it.”

He was surprised you answered at all, but that still didn’t really answer his question, so he clarified, “I meant why do you have a fish?”

“Lessy gave it to me.”

“Why?”

“Reasons.”

He rolled his eyes, knowing he wasn’t going to get anywhere with this, and slipped over to check out his computer, which, as you had told Lestrade, was now in one working piece. For the first time in a week, a peaceful quiet settled over the flat, broken only by the sound of your soft humming, and John could relax.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No input from John in this one since the new case took up the bulk of it. This was very much less sad then the previous chapters. I'm not sure where it's going with the case... We shall see. But I know where it goes after that. Any ideas for you fish's name?

John jumped when you sprang up and started frantically rearranging things on the wall, mumbling something indiscernible before leaping over the coffee table as you exclaimed, “Go put on a blazer, John. We’re going to dinner.”

“No,” he huffed, still a bit cross with you, and you froze, “What?”

“I said no.”

“Why not? It’s not like you have other plans.”

“You didn’t even ask.”

“Oh come on, John. I can tell you don’t have a date… you were just going to make instant noodles and watch Connie Prince reruns.”

He puffed out his lip in a pout and you stifled a giggle as you added, “If you come, I promise it will be interesting.”

“And if I don’t you’re going to pester me, aren’t you?”

“Of course.”

He got up to go up to his room and you smirked, calling up after him, “And don’t doddle. I don’t have all night.”

The door slammed and you chuckled, slipping into Sherlock’s room to change as well before he came back down. You were fixing your hair in the mirror above the fireplace when he emerged, pulling on a gray blazer as he asked, “What exactly are we going to dinner for? What’s the case- Whoa.”

He froze in the doorway, going slack-jawed as he looked you over. You’d put on a sleek black dress that showed off your delicate curves and a pair of red heels that accentuated your long legs. All traces of your sleep deprivation were covered by an expertly applied layer of make-up made to look natural and your piercing blue eyes were almost painfully intense with the black eyeliner and full dark lashes. Your dark curls were arranged around your face in a purposefully tousled style- a big change from the erratic bedhead you normally sported. John’s eye lingered on your lips, which were the same shade of red as your heels, and then traced down your figure again.

“Too much?” you asked, fidgeting a little nervously. Sherlock usually told you if you were over or underdressed for the occasion, just like you made sure he matched, tied his tie, and straightened his hair when it needed it.

He quickly shook his head, “N-No. You look amazing, (F/n).”

To his surprise, your cheeks went a pearly shade of pink as you mumbled, “Thank you, John.”

That was certainly something Sherlock had never done.

You recovered quickly and tossed him his gun before pulling up the edge of your dress to strap a gun he didn’t recognize to your upper thigh, making his eyes go wide for more than one reason.

“Where did you get that, (F/n)?” he demanded, purposefully looking away from your exposed thigh, and you quirked an eyebrow at him, “Same place you got yours. Don’t ask stupid questions.”

He opened his mouth and then snapped it shut; he’d forgotten you’d been a soldier just like him. Even so, the fact that you’d had a gun and kept it from him worried him. He was brought back to earth when you gave a loud clap and announced, “Alright, Dr. Watson. Time for you to show me exactly what it is that you do on all those dates of yours… We have reservations at Galvin at the Windows in a half hour.”

“Galvin at the- How did you manage that? And on such short notice?”

You offered him that smug smirk that reminded him so much of your brother as you wound your arm around his, “I may have dropped Mycroft’s name. Opens doors, you know. Now come on. I’ll fill you in on the way.”

By the time you’d reached the restaurant, you’d explained to John that the four victims in your newest case were couples- the men murdered and the woman missing, and the only thing they had in common was the restaurant they had eaten at the night they disappeared- Galvin at the Windows. As such, you and he were going to pose as a happy couple out on a date to try and lure out the perpetrator.

John was already doing a very good job of it- opening doors for you and keeping an arm around your waist at all times- so much so that it came naturally for you to let out soft giggles and tuck yourself closer to him. In your mind, you scolded yourself for feeling that way, this was supposed to be an act after all and not a real date.

Refocusing as you entered the main room, you started in with your deductive observing as John pulled out a chair for you and the waiter handed you a menu. You knew it had to be someone who was here regularly- likely a member of the staff or someone who ate here often. You scanned the tables discreetly- cheating boyfriend, pair of cheating spouses on a date, lesbian couple posing as friends, birthday party that nobody wanted to be at…  you shifted your chair closer to John with a shy smile as a ploy to get a glimpse at some of the further ones.

At your movement, John offered you a lopsided grin that derailed your train of thought for a moment and you blinked at him as he murmured, “This place is really nice and the view is fantastic- wouldn’t you agree?”

You startled, having been too caught up in deducing everyone to notice the view out the wide windows in front of your table, and John chuckled as he looked back at his menu, “You didn’t notice, did you?”

“It wasn’t important,” you hissed softly, giving it your attention for a moment- it truly was breathtaking. You’d have to have Mycroft bring you back here sometime so that you could enjoy it.

Reminded of how you’d garnered a reservation, you smirked and leaned in to whisper in John’s ear, “Order whatever you’d like. Mycroft is picking up the check.”

He grinned in understanding and you spotted what you’d been looking for at one of the further tables, taking up John’s hand as you pulled back and hummed, “That couple at the far table. Backs to the window.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, putting down his menu to look at you and you moved his hand to your thigh as you gave him a seductive smile and breathed, “Kiss me.”

John didn’t need to be told twice and closed the gap between the two of you to press his lips to yours. You responded, keeping it sweet and simple, and your eyes involuntarily fluttered closed before you pulled away with a giggle, whispering under your breath, “I’m sure.”

The couple with their backs to the window had openly stared, you’d caught that just before your eyes had closed- they were paying too close of attention to you and John. That, in addition to the fact that they were not taken in by the view meaning they’d been there a number of times before among other bits of things, made you almost certain they were the ones you were looking for. Now all there was to do was wait for them to make their move so you turned your focus to deciding on what to eat.

John, on the other hand, was focused on you. He’d nearly forgotten how much he enjoyed kissing you and the fact that this wasn’t really a date- your actions reminding him of both things in a matter of seconds. It surprised him that a surge of disappointment hit him when you pulled away and that he suddenly wished it was real. His mind returned to the last time you’d kissed him and then to Sherlock’s views on romance and relationships… if you shared either of your brothers’ views on the subject, there was no chance that anything could ever happen between you. Not to mention the fact that you were more than grief-stricken.

You noticed the change in his expression, setting your menu down to give him a concerned look as you tangled his fingers with yours, “What’s the matter, darling?”

He shook his head to clear it and then offered you a small smile, “Nothing, love. I’m just having trouble deciding what to order.”

Chuckling softly, you gave his hand a squeeze, “Well that’s no reason to look so troubled! May I suggest whatever’s most expensive? You know how much I enjoy annoying my brother.”

The doctor cursed at how seriously you were taking this fake date before resigning himself to taking advantage of the fact that Mycroft was unwittingly picking up the tab and that you seemed to be in position and mood for him to get to talk to you a bit more. As the night progressed, he forgot again that it wasn’t, in fact, a date as you laughed at all his bad jokes and told him embarrassing stories about Mycroft with one of you touching the other at all times.

Oddly enough you found yourself in a similar position; the only thing keeping you grounded was the occasional glance toward your suspects. After a while, you decided that just because all this was an act didn’t mean that you couldn’t enjoy it and John was good company since he easily managed to distract you from the ever-present grief. There was certainly something to your brother keeping him around.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a bit more involved in this case than I intended... I hope I can wrap it up in one more chapter.

Sherlock shoved his gloved hands down into his coat pockets, keeping his head down as he shambled along the path with only his thoughts to keep him company. Mycroft had insisted he leave London for a while to make sure you didn’t spot him and he had reluctantly agreed- you were far more likely to catch him looking in then John was. So he’d gone to Germany for some case that Mycroft said he might like and, as usual, it turned out to be boring and tedious. It had taken him less than an hour to solve and now he was terribly bored. This brought him to wander the wooded paths near his cottage- it was something you claimed cleared your head when you were bored or upset and since he was thinking about you now, it seemed fitting.

It had been hard enough for him to slip out of his life- to become dead to the world- when the world didn’t include you and now that it did it was nearing unbearable. When you were away, he’d been able to tell himself there was no difference between being ‘dead’ and being alive because either way you weren’t there. Now…

Now things were different.

Now, he felt alone like he rarely had in his life. Now, you were not only home but his ‘death’ had sent you spiraling down into a level of grief he’d never seen from you before. It scared him like few things in this life had- like him, you were impulsive and if you acted on your grief, it could only end in tragedy. He hoped that, with Mycroft and John keeping an eye on you, nothing would happen but he would have preferred to stay in London to keep an eye on you himself just to be certain. He wanted to go home and be with you- to make you smile again- but he couldn’t. He couldn’t do any of it. All he could do was wander the world alone.

Back in London, you pushed your food around your plate as John chatted about his last shift at the clinic- not particularly hungry and trying to keep John from noticing that you weren’t actually eating anything. You were enjoying your time with John. It was almost sickeningly adorable how animated he got when telling you stories and listening to yours. He was easy to pay attention to and, though your focus strayed to the case occasionally, you couldn’t keep yourself from listening to him and responding.

Even when you found a particular story uninteresting, you could simply watch the ever-changing plane of his face through each expressive emotion or study the different ways the light caught the color of his eyes. To any outsider, you looked smitten, which, to be fair, was what you were going for, but it was true and unfortunately the both of you were completely blind to it, writing the night off as part of the case- a work affair. Still, you thought it was nice to pretend that your life wasn’t a complete mess and that you had found someone for a little bit.

You offered him a small grin, encouraging him to continue his story about one of the stranger patients that had come into the clinic, and then scooped up your glass of water. Cradling it in your hand as you glanced out the window at the view, you suddenly felt a pang of loneliness in your chest different then the one you now felt on a regular basis- it was almost as if it didn’t belong to you but rather someone else. You thought it odd for a moment before it called up a memory of the last time you’d felt that particular type of loneliness and your mind quickly latched onto it and threw you into the past.

_~10 years earlier~_

_You trudged down the street in the rain, not sure where to go exactly and in this moment not particularly caring either. The heaven’s drenched you, soaking through even your thick trench coat, and you tilted your face skyward with closed eyes, letting out a heavy sigh._

_This was so cliché it was painful._

_You’d spent weeks arguing with Sherlock over you wanting to move out of your shared flat to live with your boyfriend of a year and a half- the self-proclaimed love of your life. From what you could see there was nothing wrong with it. Neither you nor Sherlock could find anything wrong with him- he was fairly intelligent, he put up with your quirks… he was perfect for you. Of course, that didn’t stop Sherlock from being rude simply because he didn’t like the man but logically there was no way for him to convince you not to date him and now not to move in with him._

_So you had._

_After explosively yelling at your twin, you’d packed up your things and moved out, pressing a kiss to his unresponsive cheek as you promised it wouldn’t be that bad before slipping out the door._

_And now, just a month later, the prat told you it was over and he wanted you out._

_Something about another woman he’d met, one who suited him better, and how it wasn’t your fault- it was him and all that hogwash. It had hardly mattered to you. Heartbroken, you’d spun on your heel and bolted out into the storm before he could even finish and that brought you to the present- trudging through the rain alone. You wanted to go home to Sherlock but he was still upset with you, not to mention doing that would be admitting you were wrong, so you simply let the rain swallow you up and succumbed to the loneliness in your heart._

_You didn’t know how long you were out there, certainly long enough for you to be soaked to the bone, but next thing you knew there was an arm wrapped around your shoulder and you looked up to find your brother. His mess of dark curls was plastered to his face and he looked to be nearly as soaked as you were but still tucked you under his arm to share what warmth he had left. He said nothing, simply falling into step next to you when you started walking again, and the two of you just wandered in the rain until you decided you were ok._

_You both had ended up with the flu and Mycroft had not been happy but neither of you cared. Sherlock was simply content that you were home with him again. He never said I told you so or brought up that night again and when you asked him how he’d known something was wrong, he simply shrugged and offered, “I just did.”_

_~_

John had immediately noticed the sudden and almost overwhelming sadness that took over your expression and was calling out to you rather unsuccessfully, starting to fret in his mind. The third time he softly hummed your name it penetrated your memory as a muffled cry gently leading you back to reality but in the end, it wasn’t John but a shooting pain from your shoulder that harshly snapped you out of it and back to the table and John.

The glass still in your hand was very quickly on the table when your hand disobeyed you once again, its contents spilling over the tablecloth, and you were quick to press your napkin over the growing spot as your cheeks went pink and you growled, “Bugger. Of all the times…”  

Before you could get any further John had grabbed your hand to stop you, gently soothing, “It’s alright, (F/n). It’s just water.”

A waiter was already handling the mess and pouring you a new glass as you rubbed at your brow with your wrist and then ventured a glance at your companion. John still had your other hand in his and was giving you a concerned look that begged you to tell him what was wrong but you just shook your head, quickly composing yourself to offer him a grin, “I’m afraid I drifted, John dear. What were you saying?”

He pursed his lips and tightened his grip on your hand so you couldn’t pull away when he pressed, “Nothing important, (F/n). How’s your shoulder?”

“Fine now,” you admitted, looking away before grumbling almost to yourself, “I wish it would quit doing that… really there’s no reason it should.”

He laced his fingers with yours, hoping the action would make you look at him, and was quickly rewarded when your eyes locked on his as he coaxed, “Tell me what’s wrong, love. You said you were going to let me help.”

“It’s nothing,” you sighed, “Just a memory that crept up on me.”

He nodded understandingly, offering, “Why don’t we skip dessert? Then we can finish up here and go home.”

Reminded of why you were here in the first place, you leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to his lips, discreetly glancing over his shoulder to make sure you still had the attention of the couple you suspected as you purred, “I’d like that.”

Since there was no check to take care of- you’d already had them put it on Mycroft’s card when you'd called pretending to be Anthea- the two of you got up to leave, John winding his arm around your waist again as he, whispered in your ear, “So what’s the plan?”

Knowing the couple had just gotten up to follow you, you giggled with a smirk as if he’d said something naughty and then softly hummed so only he could hear, “Let it happen. The women are still missing.”

He nodded, letting you lead him out to the curb with a little suggestive looking tug and once you were there you wound your arms around his neck and quickly added, “And do try not to get yourself killed,” before giving him a more passionate kiss as the other couple joined you outside.

As you suspected, as soon as you pulled away there was something pressed over your mouth and everything went black.  
  



End file.
